Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(81)

This I must believe.

- Drizzt Do’Urden





CHAPTER 22

WITHOUT DIRECTION


The sword cut carne too swiftly for the goblin slave to even cry out in terror. It toppled forward, quite dead before it ever hit the floor. Zaknafein stepped on its back and continued on; the path to the narrow cavern’s rear exit lay open before the spirit-wraith, barely ten yards away. Even as the undead warrior moved beyond his latest kill, a group of illithids carne into the cavern in front of him. Zaknafein snarled and did not turn away or slow in the least. His logic and his strides were direct; Drizzt had gone through this exit, and he would follow.

Anything in his way would fall to his blade.

Let this one go on its way! came a telepathic cry from several points in the cavern, from other mind flayers who had witnessed Zaknafein in action. You cannot defeat him! Let the drow leave! The mind flayers had seen enough of the spirit-wraith’s deadly blades; more than a dozen of their comrades had died at Zaknafein’s hand already.

This new group standing in Zaknafein’s way did not miss the urgency of the telepathic pleas. They parted to either side with all speed-except for one.

The illithid race based its existence on pragmatism founded in vast volumes of communal knowledge. Mind flayers considered base emotions such as pride fatal flaws.

It proved to be true again on this occasion.

Fwoop! The single illithid blasted the spirit-wraith, determined that none should be allowed to escape.

An instant later, the time of a single, precise swipe of a sword, Zaknafein stepped on the fallen illithid’s chest and continued on his way out into the wilds of the Underdark.

No other illithids made any move to stop him.

Zaknafein crouched and carefully picked his path. Drizzt had traveled down this tunnel; the scent was fresh and clear. Even so, in his careful pursuit, where he would often have to pause and check the trail, Zaknafein could not move as swiftly as his intended prey.

But, unlike Zaknafein, Drizzt had to rest.

“Hold” The tone of Belwar’s command left no room for debate. Drizzt and Clacker froze in their tracks, wondering what had put the burrow-warden on sudden alert.

Belwar moved over and put his ear to the rock wall. “Boots,” he whispered, pointing to the stone. “Parallel tunnel.”

Drizzt joined his friend by the wall and listened intently, but, though his senses were keener than almost any other dark elf, he was not nearly as adept at reading the vibrations of the stone as the deep gnome.

“How many?” he asked.

“A few,” replied Belwar, but his shrug told Drizzt that he was only making a hopeful approximation.

“Seven,” said Clacker from a few paces down the wall, his voice clear and sure. “Duergar-gray dwarves-fleeing from the illithids, as are we.”

“How can you…’ Drizzt started to ask, but he stopped, remembering what Clacker had told him concerning the powers of the pech.

“Do the tunnels cross?” Belwar asked the hook horror. “Can we avoid the duergar?”

Clacker turned back to the stone for the answers. “The tunnels join a short way ahead,” he replied, “then continue on as one.”

“Then if we stay here, the gray dwarves will probably pass us by,” Belwar reasoned.

Drizzt was not so certain of the deep gnome’s reasoning. “We and the duergar share a common enemy,” Drizzt remarked, then his eyes widened as a thought came to him suddenly. “Allies?”

“Although often the duergar and drow travel together, gray dwarves do not usually ally with svirfnebli,” Belwar reminded him. “Or hook horrors, I would guess!”

“This situation is far from usual,” Drizzt was quick to retort. “If the duergar are in flight from the mind flayers, then they are probably ill-equipped and unarmed. They might welcome such an alliance, to the gain of both groups.”

“I do not believe they will be as friendly as you assume,” Belwar replied with a sarcastic snicker, “but concede I will that this narrow tunnel is not a defensible region, more suited to the size of a duergar than to the long blades of a drow and the longer-still arms of a hook horror. If the duergar double back at the crossroad and head toward us, we may have to do battle in an area that will favor them.”

“Then to the place where the tunnels join,” said Drizzt, “and let us learn what we may.”

The three companions soon came into a small, oval-shaped chamber. Another tunnel, the one in which the duergar were traveling, entered the area right beside the companions’ tunnel, and a third passage ran out from the back of the room. The friends moved across into the shadows of this farthest tunnel even as the shuffling of boots echoed in their ears.

A moment later, the seven duergar came into the oval chamber. They were haggard, as Drizzt had suspected, but they were not unarmed. Three carried clubs, another a dagger, two held swords, and the last sported two large rocks.

Drizzt held his friends back and stepped out to meet the strangers. Though neither race held much love for the other, drow and duergar often formed mutually gainful alliances. Drizzt guessed that the chances of forming a peaceful alliance would be greater if he went out alone.

His sudden appearance startled the weary gray dwarves. They rushed all about frantically, trying to form some defensive posture. Swords and clubs came up at the ready, and the dwarf holding the rocks cocked his arm back for a throw.